


Do I make you randy, Baby?

by SlusherM_221B



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Frottage, M/M, Morning Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-28
Updated: 2013-11-28
Packaged: 2018-01-02 21:58:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1062102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlusherM_221B/pseuds/SlusherM_221B
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John finds himself up at an ungodly hour for a Saturday and Sherlock finds his way into his room and convinces him early morning isn’t such a bad time to be awake.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Do I make you randy, Baby?

            It was six o’ clock in the morning. A Saturday. At least three hours before John was planning to actually be awake. He accidently left his alarm on from Friday.

            He was curled up on his left side, facing the wall, but he could see the dim beginnings of light slanting through the blinds of his window on the wall. Or perhaps it was moonlight since he was up so damn early. The room was cold, the skin of his face and right hand were tight where they were outside the warmth of the blanket, but the rest of his body was nice and cozy. No matter how comfortable he was, the irritation from not being comfortable _and_ asleep was setting in, furrowing his brows.

            When he wakes, he can almost never go back to sleep. He will be alert until he goes back to sleep that night. He was about to get up to make some tea when he heard his door creak open. He stayed perfectly still but closed his eyes again, a small smile playing on his face.

            There is a long pause before he hears footsteps coning towards his bed, followed by a dip in the mattress. There is some quiet shuffling with the rustle of sheets before John feels warmth against his back, just close enough to feel a body is behind him but not actually touching him. He waits until he feels a single pressure poking his shoulder blade before widening his smile, but he stays facing the wall.

            “John, I know you’re awake.” The touch at his shoulder disappeared and he let out a muffled chuckle. John groaned sleepily and flopped over onto his stomach, keeping his eyes closed but turning his head towards the window. Instead of replying, he breathed out a sigh. He felt another poke, this time on the tip of his nose. John grumbled in fake exasperation and twitched his nose, trying to dislodge the intrusive finger.

            The finger retreated but was replaced by a light pressure of lips, barely a kiss against his skin, soft curls brushing his forehead. “John.” When he pulled back, John finally opened one eye, peering at him fondly. “How’d you know? Your John-senses tingling?” Sherlock rolled his eyes and huffed, but moved in close until their foreheads rested against each other. John could tell that his reference went right over his head as usual but he seemed to know it was a reference at least; his kaleidoscope eyes flicked in that familiar way they do when he was filing away information in his Mind Palace for later.

            Sherlock ran his hand over the covers up and down John’s arm, the sensation of it filling John with groggy appreciation. “Or”, Sherlock said, “maybe I’m just randy.” He nuzzled his nose against John’s and slipped his hand beneath the covers to resume his rubbing. John was too tired to blush but his prick had other ideas, starting to fill against the mattress beneath him.

            Sherlock was usually impatient with the prospect of sex lingering in the air, but the morning seemed to have an effect on him too, because rather than tug John to get him to flip over, he sat up on his elbows and peeled the blanket back. John thought about protesting against the sudden cold but all thoughts of complaining vanished from his mind when he felt warm lips trace against his bare shoulder.

            He was shirtless because it was hot last night, wearing only a pair of his old, worn boxers. Sherlock continued ghosting little, chaste kisses across his upper back, shoulder blade to shoulder blade. When he reached the other side, he hiked a leg over John and straddled his hips with his knees, sitting lightly on the back of John’s thighs. He ran his hands soothingly over John’s exposed back, digging his fingers into the tense muscles bunched near his neck until they relaxed. Sherlock chuckled and put on a heavier British accent “Well, do I make you randy, baby?”

            John barked out an aroused laugh and looked at his lover over his shoulder. “Did you just quote Austin Powers, Sherlock?” He felt him shift on his thighs and then Sherlock was hovering over him on all fours, breathing directly into his ear, whispering lewdly. “Yes, because Danger is my middle name.” He traced the shell of his ear with the tip of his tongue and laughed. “Is that a yes?” John asked. Sherlock’s answer was to push his tongue fully on John’s ear and then nip playfully at the tip before sucking the lobe between his plush cupids bow lips, releasing it to kiss behind the ear.

            John moaned at the wetness Sherlock left on his ear, not knowing why he found the feeling of a tongue thrusting into his ear so erotic. He elbowed the man softly in the ribs for him to move so he could turn over, his erection practically singing with relief from not being pressed against the mattress anymore. Sherlock’s warm body came down onto his own and the feeling of their cotton-clad cocks chaffing was pure heaven.

            He ran his hands down Sherlock’s shirt on the sides and grabbed the bottom of it, pulling it slowly off of him. With them both shirtless, Sherlock rested his chest on John’s again, the skin-on-skin contact sending sparks of pleasure through John’s entire body. He was still tired but he was always fond of slow morning sex. They almost never got to indulge in it because Sherlock rarely slept and was usually gone in the morning when he woke.           

            Sherlock brushed his nose on John’s and leaned in to seal their lips together. The kiss was chaste, their closed mouths barely pushing against each other, both of their eyes still open and staring at each other with affection. John leaned up and pushed his lips more firmly against his upper lip, pulling it between his and then doing the same with his bottom lip, biting the corner of his mouth gently.

            Sherlock pushed back until John’s head fell back on the bed and licked the seam of his lips enticingly. John pursed his lips together stubbornly but Sherlock retaliated by biting his chin and pulling down until his lips popped open, and then savagely attacked his mouth again, pushing his tongue inside. John almost bit down, but he wanted slow morning sex more than he wanted a fight at the moment. Maybe another time.

            He allowed Sherlock into his mouth and caressed his tongue with his own. He flicked it out when Sherlock’s retreated into his own mouth and followed it in, running it on the inside of his plush lower lip before scraping it on his teeth. He moaned when Sherlock ran his teeth down his chin and pressed a kiss on it. He continued pressing hot, open mouth kisses until he reached his ear and then switched to trailing them down his neck, arching to give him better access.

            When he reached the juncture of his neck and shoulder, he licked a broad strip back up his throat and returned to plunder his mouth. They kissed more gently this time, barely lapping their tongues into each other’s mouths. Sherlock broke away again and returned to scatter little kisses and nips to his collar bone. He mouthed down his chest and latched onto a rosy nipple, circling the outside of it with his tongue and prodding the nub to hardness, then pulling away to watch goose bumps form. He opened his mouth and bit down on his pectoral, breathing hotly on the reddened nub, then tugging it firmly up with a growl in the back of his throat. John’s loud yelp turned moan was immensely satisfying.

            Sherlock moved onto the other nipple, giving it the same treatment, then placing more open mouthed kisses down his sternum and plush stomach. He paused briefly to dip his tongue into his naval before nuzzling the line of hair leading to the most intimate part of his body. John could feel Sherlock’s stubble scratch the sensitive skin above his groin and he tried to repress a shiver. Looking down at Sherlock’s smirk, he obviously didn’t succeed.

            When he reached the fabric of his boxers, Sherlock tilted his head until his forehead pushed into John’s stomach and slithered his tongue under the fabric as far as it would go before slipping it out and hooking his thumbs in it and tugging it down. John’s erection bobbed obscenely when it was freed. A glob of pre-cum pulsed out of his slit and Sherlock lapped it up greedily as he yanked his boxers off his ankles and stood on his knees to pull off his own pants.

            He settled back between John’s spread thighs and pushed his cock forcibly down onto his stomach. He placed the flat of his tongue with the tip at the bottom of his bollocks and licked a long stripe all the way to the tip of his cock, pushing his foreskin up over the head and breathing warm air over the slick flesh. John arched off the bed and cried out sharply, murmuring incoherently. Sherlock repeated the action again, this time engulfing his prick until the head hit the back of his throat. He swallowed convulsively a few times and then pulled up to bob up and down shallowly.

            He released it with plop and steadied it with a hand on the root and circled the bulbous head with his lips. Applying a sloppy kiss to the spongy tip, he made eye contact with John and slid the head back between his lush lips. John could feel his clever tongue flicking the slit and the sensitive glans under the head and he let out a high pitched needy whine, falling back on the bed and flinging an arm over his eyes. “Sherlock... _please_. Fucking get on with it.”

            Sherlock only laughed and ran his tongue up and down his shaft, following his veins and nudging every ridge playfully. His cock was leaking profusely now, red and ready for release. John’s hands had been clutching at the sheets, but losing some of his control, he thrust them into Sherlock’s wild curls and tangled his fingers on either side of his head, nails gently scraping his scalp. Sherlock practically purred with his appreciation.

            He continued to torture his cock with teasing licks and open mouthed kisses on the base of his cock, running up the shaft and on the bulbous head, slick with a healthy amount of pre-cum steadily leaking down the shaft until Sherlock lapped it up. He would bite down gently on the head and root occasionally, the sharp pleasure-pain doing unspeakable things to John’s mind. He would only alleviate John aching need by pulling slow, long strokes up his prick, twisting his hand on the end and squeezing the base, but those came too far and few between to be any real semblance of relief. Mostly, he put his forefinger and thumb on either side just under his swelling head, barely there pressure, and ran them up and down, maddeningly slow, pulling the foreskin until it pinched, covering the head, and then retracting it back down, leaving the head smeared with clear liquid that he would blow on, the sudden breeze making John pulse even more pre-cum out.

            When John finally couldn’t take anymore, he tugged on Sherlock’s curls and whined. “Sh…sh'lock…please. Fuck. Come here.” Smugly, he lowered himself even more and placed his tongue on John’s bollocks again, sucking one testicle into his mouth, releasing it and watching it pull closer to his body, before sucking the other one and treating it in the same manner. He pressed a kiss to his perineum, nose nudging the wet testicles, before flattening his tongue against his bollocks and once more licking all the way to the tip of his lover’s prick where he pressed a kiss, which was more tongue than lips, half on the head and half on his stomach.

            Sherlock sucked another kiss onto his stomach, then chest, and then ravaged John’s mouth. They both were getting beyond desperate, so they forwent chaste kisses and plunged their tongues into each other’s hot caverns, wetly sliding together with quiet moans being swallowed in frantic nips and licks.

            Sherlock settled on top of John and slotted theirs cocks together, the hot and engorged flesh almost too much. John hitched a leg over Sherlock’s thighs and raised the other one to slide onto his waist. Sherlock lavished kisses onto John’s face-his lips, his chin, his nose, his cheeks, his forehead, his temple-and forced a hand between their bodies to wrap around their cocks, squeezing them together snugly. John bucked at the contact, pushing his cock through the ring of Sherlock’s fist, and moaned wantonly. Sherlock set a rhythm of fast strokes countered with slow, lingering pulls, his thumb passing over the head of their pricks every other tug. 

            John ran his hands over Sherlock’s pale back, worshipping the soft skin and dips between his shoulders and above his arse. He shoved his hands lower and cupped the plush mounds of flesh, thumbs rubbing mindless circles. He squeezed hard and slapped a cheek playfully with one hand before running his fingers between the seam and placing his middle finger in the juncture where it meets his elegant thighs and rested his hands lightly on his arse, feeling the way it jiggled minutely with every thrust.

            Sherlock huffed indigently at the slap but kept thrusting, his moves becoming more erratic, too close to complain. John was feeling similar and suddenly, when Sherlock pressed his tongue at his pulse point on his neck and increased the pressure around their heads, twisting his wrist on the upstroke, John was right at the precipice.

            Sherlock had his face crowded against his neck, his hair damp and sticking to his forehead, tickling under John’s chin. John raised his hand to the back of Sherlock’s neck, petting the soft curls at the base, and choked out a “close.” He must have been feeling the same thing, because his only answer was to grunt, murmur a silent “oh god…oh fuck…”, and increase speed of his strokes, their pre-come mixing pleasantly to slide their pricks together effortlessly.

            John clutched tightly at Sherlock, raising his head and pressing a trembling kiss to his brow before feeling his bollocks draw close to his body and his prick becoming impossibly stiffer, everything becoming white noise and moving in slow motion, his breath caught in his throat, and then the built up pressure released and John came crashing down, his come splattering both of their abdomens in thick, short spurts. Sherlock moaned at the warmth flooding his hand and the added slickness helped to lube his prick, and with one, two, three more thrusts, aimed to send him over the edge but to also to elongate John’s orgasm by nudging his glands, he came with earth-shattering force, moaning into John’s neck once more.

            Sherlock stroked them slowly through their orgasms, their bollocks resting heavily against each other. When John realized that he wasn’t going to stop any time soon, he whimpered and slapped Sherlock’s arse again. “Stop it, you wanker. Too much. I’m not as young as I used to be.” Sherlock gave them a few more strokes before stilling and just holding their hot flesh in his palm. He gave John a lazy kiss and slid down his body and took the length of his softening cock into his mouth, not moving, thank God, just feeling the heavy weight of the softening flesh on his tongue. It was still a lot for his sensitive prick and he hissed and tangled his hands in those ridiculous curls again. “Sherlock!”

            Taking mercy on his lover, he let the near-flaccid member fall from his mouth and buried his nose in the damp golden hair at the base of his cock instead. Breathing in deeply as if to get the intoxicating smell forever imprinted in his mind, he splayed his fingers through the coarse hair and sighed in contentment. He moved up slightly and lapped up their mixed come on John’s stomach, each swallow filling him with quiet pride that he did this to his John. He grabbed at the sheet on the bed and wiped at the come on his stomach and then went back down to nestle John’s pubic hair once more, lipping at a trace of come he missed.

             John chuckled affectionately and tugged on his curls. “Come here, you.” Sherlock climbed up his body and flounced theatrically on top of him with another sigh, the action bringing their flaccid cocks to nestle against each other. John licked at the coating of come on his lover’s lips and devoured them languidly, his tongue finding no urgency in his endeavor, perfectly happy to spend an indefinite amount of time exploring Sherlock’s wonderfully sinful mouth, tasting the bitter evidence of their shared pleasure on his mouth.

            Eventually, he pulled back to rest his head back against the bed, Sherlock’s cheek on his temple. John laughed again and ran his fingers soothingly through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead. He pressed a kiss to his brow and hugged him closer to himself, already feeling the dregs of sleep pulling at him again. Sherlock grumbled some happy nonsense and nuzzled his cheek against John’s head, looking for all the world like an oversized cat that caught the canary.

            Their legs slotted together with Sherlock’s thigh slipping between John’s own and his other hanging off to the side, splayed lewdly and without a care in the world. John looked at the clock and saw that it was a little after seven in the morning, so Mrs. Hudson probably wouldn’t be up and about but the wanted to be sure since Sherlock didn't bother shutting the door. Taking up the coverlet, he pulled it up over both of their bodies and relished in the warmth, Sherlock mumbling his assent. Maybe being up this early wasn’t so bad after all.

            Sleep almost took them away but before it could, John nudged Sherlock with his cheek and said, “Sherlock? You do make me randy, baby."

**Author's Note:**

> The title and reference Sherlock makes are a salute to Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery, for which I have an unhealthy obsession for. Long live King of Comedy, Mike Myers. I loved writing this! :)


End file.
